


Cherry Bomb

by kassidy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Impala Sex, M/M, Season/Series 03, Wincest - Freeform, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-10
Updated: 2010-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 08:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassidy/pseuds/kassidy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Dean and the Impala</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> This came from an Impala prompt at LJ spnflashfic and was written before the end of 3rd season. Now with art from the talented, generous millygal courtesy of the quickybang challenge at LJ:)

 

 

 

"Pull over."

Dean threw Sam a questioning glance and looked out the window, seeing only trees and the flat pan of blue-green lake flashing between the foliage.

"C'mon, Dean," Sam said, "close to the water," and watched him expectantly.

Dean shrugged and found a dirt road veering off through the trees, following it until it meandered out only a few yards away from the shoreline. He braked the Impala, wincing at a little coughing sound she made as he cut the engine, muttering don't worry, I've gotcha covered, sweetheart, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"What?" Dean demanded, but the car door slammed in his face as Sam walked in front of the car, breeze ruffling his hair. "Boy Scouts give you a patch for coming out here, nature boy?"

Sam didn't answer, just leaned back against the hood and looked out over the water.

"Get off my car," Dean added without heat. Sam didn't. Dean sighed and got out of the Impala.

It was quiet out here, but it was the kind of quiet that's busy just underneath, like things were growing or moving just out of eye- and earshot. The breeze divided around Dean's body, ruffling hairs on his arms and meeting around the back again, fresh off the lake. He walked to the front of the car, dried pine needles quieting his steps, and settled next to his brother.

"Why are we here?" Dean asked a little pointedly, because Sam had yet to open his mouth and it was getting on his nerves.

Sam smiled a little but didn't look at him.

"So for future reference, when I want you to shut up I just act like I don't and then you will, right?" Dean said.

Sam said, "Stop talking, Dean," and leaned over, covered his mouth with his own and pushed his way inside, kissing him hard as if they'd been fucking for an hour and he was on the verge, all need and want and tongue.

Dean made a startled noise and fell back on his elbows against the warm hood, trying to breathe around the kiss and pushing back into Sam's mouth as Sam followed him down, then lifted away just as quick. Dean's mouth searched for his a second and then his eyes flew open, looking at Sam's flushed, hovering mouth. Dean tried to push up to him again but Sam pulled further away.

"What the fuck," said Dean.

"You know what I've always wanted to do?" Sam asked, looking down, eyes narrowing against the sunlight. Dean cocked an eyebrow, feigning cool against the pulse jumping in his throat. "Always wanted to, uh…" he trailed off, then grew impatient with himself and said the rest in a rush, "have-sex-on-the-Impala."

"With me, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes again. "If it was somebody else would I be telling you?"

"So," Dean considered. "You want me to fuck you in the Impala."

"On top. Not in. Am I speaking a different language here?" said Sam, his voice defensively loud. "You haven't had sex _on_ her, right?"

Dean grinned. "Aw, you want it to be special. Looks like you're in luck, Samantha. The hood's cherry in every way." He paused. "So you've always wanted to, huh. Like when you were five or what?"

"Shut up, jerk," Sam answered companionably. "Around the time I convinced you that my mouth on your dick is a good thing."

Dean raised a brow again. "Yeah, that's what I said. When you were five."

"You need help, man," Sam said and pulled his shirt off with a quick motion, tips of brown hair gone gold in the sun and flying all over his head. Dean stared at him, dropped his eyes down over his chest, watching smooth muscle shift beneath his skin, watching Sam's nipples harden either because of the breeze or Dean's eyes on him. Probably both.

"You can barely say the word sex, Sammy. I don't think I'm the one that needs help." Dean reached for him, laid a hand on the smooth skin of Sam's chest.

"I can say the word, Dean," Sam said, then hissed in a breath as Dean's fingers stroked a nipple. "I say a lot worse."

"You're a regular potty mouth. But you're right, I do need help." Dean dragged Sam's hand down his stomach, then lower. "Help me, Sammy."

"The sad thing is you actually use lines like that when you're trying to pick up women."

"What do you mean trying?"

"Stand up, Dean."

"C'mon, you know that's all in the past anyway—"

"Stand up. In front of the car. "

"Talk dirty to me, Sammy." Somehow he couldn't resist. He never could shut his mouth. Maybe Sam was right—he needed a head shrink if he'd rather mouth off than have his mouth _on_ Sam. So Dean stood reluctantly and faced him.

Sam held up a finger. "Watch, Dean. Listen."

Dean nodded.

"I want to have sex with you on the hood of the Impala. I want you to spread me out and suck me and _fuck_ me on the hood of your girl here until I come so hard I go blind and maybe ruin her paint job, too, and when I'm done I'll make you come so hard you scream like a girl. Are we clear? Can you handle that?"

Dean swallowed. "I can handle that." Dean's face flushed, his voice going rough and low, nearly dying out before the last word. He dived at Sam, banging their faces together, teeth clicking together and hurting his lip, tasting blood and the taste that was Sam's, Sam's tongue in his mouth, pushing inside him hard and deep as they moaned and writhed and humped against the heat of each other and the heat of the Impala's engine beneath them. Dean put a hand in Sam's long hair, dragged his head back and exposed his long throat, bit and sucked at the thin skin near the jawline while Sam made noises that were part protest and part urging more.

Sam reared up and yanked at Dean's shirt, his throat mottled red, and they both heard a seam give.

Dean knocked Sam's hand away and yanked his own shirt up over his head, then kicked his shoes off, yanked at his belt and button and zipper. "Take your fucking pants off, Sam!" Dean growled, and Sam grinned and squirmed out of his pants, flinging them in the air to who the hell knew where after he finally managed to get them over his giant Sam feet.

Sam leaned back and looked up at Dean through his hair. "Lube."

The heat and promise beneath ran down Dean's spine and stiffened his cock even more. He swore, then rolled off the Impala and opened the door, grabbed one of their bags from the backseat and started rooting around.

"Jesus, Dean, hurry up!" Sam bellowed in his frogman voice and _fuck_.

It didn't help any that Dean's hands shook so badly, wanting to touch. He found the damned lube, unscrewing the cap and tossing it wherever, diving back out and around the front of the Impala. And stopped.

Sam leaned back on one arm, the other hand jacking himself off slow. Miles of skin and muscle, legs spread, mouth open, slanted eyes on Dean's, watching and knowing exactly what the fuck he was doing to him.

Dean bent and sucked Sam's cock in his mouth in one long swoop, devouring him, sucking hard.

Sam groaned and held the back of Dean's head, watching, stomach muscles straining, then held Dean's head hard and still to him, making him stop.

Dean pulled off. "What?" he said, looking up irritably, and Sam looked back and let him go, spreading his legs. Dean got the message. He squirted a load of lube out over his fingers and pushed them inside Sam, slow and sure, Sam writhing against him. Dean shuddered, feeling Sam's heat and tightness closing over him.

"C'mon," Sam urged, "now, Dean," and Dean slicked himself up slow and hard, eyes closed until Sam's voice was nearly a plea and then Dean opened his eyes and smiled. Sam frowned. "In me," he said, soft, and Dean stared at him, at the frown and wrinkle of his forehead, the lean hips and smooth skin and mouth and body, so much body against the shining black hood of the Impala. Leaned over and kissed him slow and thorough, slowing them down, and then it was Sam shaking, asking for everything with his eyes and yeah, Dean could do that.

Dean positioned him closer to the edge of the hood and stood, pushed inside Sam inch by unhurried inch, watching his face. He fucked him smooth and slow, straining against him, his balls pressing against Sam's ass as he went deep.

Sam's eyes closed, gasping, wanting so much, and Dean stroked down his cock until he opened his eyes again and Dean showed him, gave him everything he had. But then he'd always given Sam everything. Always would.

When they came there was nothing else but them. Just like always.

***

"Dean," Sam said. "I won't let them have you." His eyes were as somber as a pledge, green and brown, as full of life as the woods around them.

Dean stared at him hard. "If you interfere, you're dead. I can't live with that. Don't you do that to me."

Sam stared back, but the tension he carried in his face nowadays still stayed away and somehow it was worse. This was sure, decided. "Yeah, we've been all over this. But if I have to go to hell and bring you back, I will. I won't leave you there. I promise."

And Dean nodded because he couldn't help but believe, looking at Sam's face.


End file.
